Blur 2
by yorushihe
Summary: Blur, Part 02 – Middle Earth. Shattered by Mahal's hammer, she floated through the universe until the way to Arda came in sight and she was finally remade. Elven Lords, Meddling old Wizards and a self given task of Finding Thorin, The Pesky Voice In Her Head. fem!Harry, fem!Harry/Thorin.. sort of.
1. Prologue

**Blur, Part 02 – Middle Earth**

 **OpqOpqO**

 **Prologue**

 **OpqOpqO**

 _In an old house, in the middle of a roll of equally old houses, something incredibly amazing happened. The house was owned by a young witch – her name was Lucia P. Potter – and she inherited the plot from her diseased godfather. He actually left a lot of things for her inside that old house, but the thing Lucia treasured the most were the memories._

 _They aren't enough. Never enough._

 _And as Lucia's best friend Hermione, found out._

 _Nothing in ever enough._

" _She is gone" Hermione sobbed on her lover's chest – his name's Ronald, but everyone called him Ron. He also used to be one of Lucia's friend. He also wasn't enough. "Oh Ron! Its all my fault! I shouldn't have allowed Lucy to convince me that voice in her head was alright!"_

" _She is not gone" He murmured against a shock of bushy hair that smothered his face. "She is sleeping"_

" _She's been asleep for weeks now! It's called a coma, Ron, and with every day that she doesn't wake, less is the chance that she_ _ **will**_ _" And laying there like a pale wraith was Lucia. Under her cover and with her night colored hair haloing her face, she looked dead. "It has to be that Thorin's doing!"_

 _Ron remembered the light in Lucia's eyes when she spoke about Thorin – the voice in her head. She sounded happy, content, glad. There had been a new fixture in his dear friend's face that was missing for months. Even the cadaveric parlor and the thinness of her skin looked meaningless._

 _And he knew exactly where she lost it._

 _Voldemort's gleeful laugher still echoed in his nightmares. The pain of thinking his best friend of seven years, with whom he shared tears and joy, whom he saw grow and fly, was gone. Simple like snuffling out a candle's flame with a feeble gust of air… Life was so adynamically overwhelming that moment in which Lucy simply laid there in Hagrid's arms, chest unmoving and with Death Eaters gloating left and right._

 _Their gleeful whispers carried by the wind to the few, brave few teenaged Order Members and made their blood turn into ice._

 _And since that day, life never managed to fully embrace Lucy again, she'd forever be half dead._

 _Something gave back to Lucy the will to live though. Something spurred in her new life. And that something, for all the hurt it cost him to admit, that something was_ _ **Thorin**_ _– the voice in his friend's head._

" _I think… I think she went with him" Ron coddled Hermione, caressing her face with the back of his hand as both kept watch over Lucia' soulless body, like she's been wickedly kissed by a Dementor while they all had their back turned. "She hasn't really smiled for anything other than us in months, and then suddenly she is all smiles and introversion, it's all thanks to that ghost or whatever"_

 _Another sob tore out of his girlfriend, she really blamed Lucy's fall on herself "I think so too…" Hermione finally spoke thickly, then she turned, catching Ron's saddened blue eyes with her own. "Do you reckon she is happier now?"_

" _It is Lucy we're talking about here Mione… She will get in trouble the first thing, and then that Thorin will have to bust her out of it" He spoke laughingly. "And she will be having a good time, because what is Lucy without trouble? I know she will be happy wherever she is"_

 _They laughed._

 _And then cried._

 _Because there was nothing else either could do. But they could have hope._

 **OpqOpqO**

 **Prologue End.**

 **OpqOpqO**

 **Preview of chapter 01:  
Lucy discovers rebirth isn't nice, but rather lonely.  
In which Thorin is late.  
Elves come to the rescue.  
**


	2. Trouble

**OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 01: Trouble**

 **OpqOpqO**

The faint sense of guilt kept niggling at the back of Lucy's head.

Lucy's luckily empty head – or Thorinless head, because her head certainly was _not_ empty, thank you. She felt regret that she left so suddenly, without noticing anyone. She was sure her friends (mostly Ron and Hermione) would worry as she was sure the sun was going to rise and then fall.

Speaking of sun rising, _Thorin was late_.

It made all kinds of insecurities flow under her skin and pool in a grubby heavy load just underneath her ribcage, making her heart flutter unpleasantly with all kinds of heavy, nauseating thoughts. She trusted Thorin implicitly since she's been in his head – he _would_ come for her, but he was taking his own sweet time getting to it. ' _It is strange having a thought that isn't being inspected by Thorin'_ Lucy pondered, sitting at the sparkling beach she's been deposited in.

 _He just wasn't there_.

And Lucy was left standing naked as the day she was born in the middle of a beach with only sand, water and forest to look at.

And a sky. A gloriously clear blue sky that extended on and on, and she couldn't help but think that even if she lived a thousand life times, she'd never be privy to everything that happened under that sky.

At first, when she woke up, light still pulsed in the back of her lids in a mock imitation of real starlight. Her body was being gently cradled by a bed of sun warmed sand and at her feet, the sea nipped playfully with its slightly colder water.

Discounting the fact that sand could, and in principle _was_ getting into places it absolutely had _no business getting into_ , Lucy was comfortable for a brief moment in time – suspended in a delicious instant. Right before a cold marine breeze wafted through and chilled her wet skin to ungodly levels.

With a curse and a half, the witch leapt to stand on unsteady legs like a newborn foal, finding that with the coming tide, she waddled more than walked – at least standing ankle deep in salty water allowed Lucy to see the advantage of venturing in deeper water and cleaning off as much sand as she could.

It was a lovely place, she could appreciate that, with bird song and sunshine and novelty. But the wind picking up and the sun sliding down was not helping matters. Thorin better be thankful that she's sacrificing so much dignity for him! "Oh… who am I kidding! I would have come anyway!" though she would have at least thought to bring her wand.

Or clothes. But mostly her wand… that's the consequence of having her soul yanked out of her original body, and then having a god rebuild it again in another world. Everything felt the same, was the same, as if Mahal simply whisked batter and molded into a pre-existent Lucy shaped blue print.

Well… Lucy twiddled her fingers, getting off the water to stand on still warmed sand.

Time for some experiments.

Thankfully, she still had Magic as it was part of her mold – had her magic been forsaken, she'd have resented Thorin a little, and neither Lucy nor Mahal wanted that. Memories of the person that had to have been Thorin, standing there looking at her with such marvel written in his eyes took her breath away in a way she didn't want marred by hatred.

(And behind him stood the Smith god, his beady black eyes as he told her _NOT TO ABUSE HER MAGIC_ still glinted in the back of her mind)

He was _big_. Lucy was short for a witch her age, but then, her father was not tall per see and her mum was rather petite – she also had to thank the Dursleys for her height, or lack of it – she was slight, thin and delicate like a bird. Thorin, or the image of him she saw in the light bridge, was _huge_.

All thick arms and legs and torso. Powerful. Fierce. Exciting. She could see herself as him, an incarnation of Lucy in the skin of a Dwarrow.

Well, she was a female and has shared her mind with him for almost five days, he wasn't exactly curbing his more… delicate thoughts from her at the beginning, and she'd bet that she mortified the poor Dwarrow for life.

Or at the very least given him a new appreciation for females.

Oh, how interesting were perspectives! Lucy still remembered half-fondly of the time she had to impersonate Draco during second year – being a male (Draco) for an hour was an experience she wasn't keen to repeat – all those nasty dangly bits - and Thorin had to endure for almost a week without _his_.

At the end of the day, Lucy loved him all the same. The way one loved one-self as they realized how utterly beautiful experience was.

He'd come to her during a time she could barely keep up with her life. On one side, the loyal support of her friends, and on the other side were the myriad of expectations people all over dumped on her without preambles. Lucy was being pressured to wed even by her well-meaning friends – The Wedding of their Hero would lift people's morale and bring joy to devastated hearts.

She'd been dealing with major stress from Griggonts pertaining her full inheritance (that she didn't truly care about, if she was being honest) and once more Ron's bouts of unnecessary jealousy with carefully placed barbs that only one so much in the defensive, as Lucy was, would catch. And care about.

Then, there were the endless letters and gifts and even threats coming hourly from mail owls – until she got fed up and had Number 12 warded once more. She didn't begrudge the world for wishing (or threatening) her well being, but she did begrudge the lack of privacy.

And through it all, Hermione still wondered why Lucy never left her house anymore, why she seemed so stressed and had lost weight. _Nightmares, endless nightmares and gnawing guilt that with Voldemort's death on her tally, she'd grow to be just like him_. No one understood. Not really.

They couldn't see the insidious shadow of self-doubt corroding away at her sanity, didn't know about the wicked murderous thoughts that went through her head in times of languorious weakness.

No one knew her truly until that frightening morning when she realized there was someone else in her head. He understood her, he comforted her, he frightened her, he taught her and he learned from her. For a while they were _One_ , maybe like soul mates? So when the time came Thorin found a way back to his World, she followed him.

' _Is loving him narcissistic?'_ She asked herself (themselves) once, and he'd huff and send amusement down at her. ' **We are not that similar, that we would see the other in the each other's eyes** ' And she agreed, because for all that was worth, when she stared at herself in the mirror all she saw was Lucy and not Thorin, because they were _not_ the same person.

 _But… he was getting awfully late_.

And she was getting terribly frustrated at the lack of response from her Magic.

Wandless spells were _hard_ , she needed a focus to channel spells, and her fingertips would not do. There was no use standing there feeling sorry for herself and a tad bit abandoned by her friend. ' _Thorin said he was in the Blue Mountains… I think that is not_ _ **that**_ _far away'_ And he never promised anything- No… He'd come to pick her up, she had to believe him.

Since when is Lucy Potter a put upon kind of witch?

Annoyed, Lucy started to trek through the beach, yes, stark naked and uncomfortable at having the wind tease parts of her that weren't meant to meet the wind like _that_. Thorin would have a lot to hear from her if he thought he could make her go through all this trouble. ' _At least I am alone'_ No one to see her in her birthing suit and as vulnerable as a lamb.

That was really a good time for her fabulous luck to kick in, wasn't it? If life was a lottery draw in which both good and bad gifts were given, she'd indescriminaly win every prize. Both good and bad. Sometimes they were worth it, others? Not so much.

" _What do we have here?"_ A melodious and kind voice spoke from Lucy's right, coming from the forest she's been avoiding for the lack of shoes and the abundance of unknown flora and fauna. " _Are you lost little one?"_ Lucy's eyes rose in a startle to see a tall, _tall_ , Hagridishly tall creature leaving the cover of vegetation to come to stare with pity down at her. Creature because the otherworldly beauty was making Lucy feel self-conscious in a way she only felt when standing near Fleur.

In her belly, a bubble of shame and embarrassment exploded, but all it did was make Lucy angry. She was not someone to accept pity. Not when the moment she needed it the most, no one had an ounce to give it to her.

Plus, she understood nil of what was spoken… "What?" She asked, in the hopes that they spoke English. ' _Is that a male or a female?'_

 _It_ was wearing a traveler's cloak, with a well-made tunic embroidered by golden treads underneath it. The hair was long and silvery blond, and if Lucy didn't know better, she would have said that it was the cross between Fleur and Draco standing right there, staring at her with a peculiar glint in its eyes.

"So you do speak the common tongue _pentithen_ " Common tongue… wasn't that one of the languages Thorin described existed in this world? The face Lucy made to the _being_ 's words must have been obvious, for he/she smiled kindly and extended a hand. "My name is Rawláeth, who are you?"

Polite, sickeningly polite being that was staring at her in growing, bitingly naive wonder.

Maybe just like Hagrid staring at his beloved hybrid beasts. The thought was as biting as it was cruel, and once more Lucy wondered where this _hatred_ for the creature came from.

Not being able to deny courtesy, not when the speaker was being so mannerly. ' _Just adopt your Well-Bred Aunt Petunia's face and smile'_ She had to answer with a name – it was only courtly.

"I'm Lucy" And then, true to her Potter blood, she managed to proudly stuff her foot in her mouth "What are you?"

' _Because no one was that beautiful without some creature blood_ '. Not that Lucy was against _half-bloods ,_ the lead singer of one of her favorite bands was a half-vampire named Lorcan d'Eath! But she was leery of beings natural of another world whose goal might be her soul. Beautiful, soul devouring beasts… that picture made a half forgotten corner of her mind titter in amusement.

She _really_ didn't like the glint in that being's eyes though. What could she say?

The creature chuckled lightly, an airy happy sound that maybe even princesses in fairy tales would be jealous of. The kind of laugher that deserved lyrical, literal poetic praise. Lucy grinded her teeth to keep the scowl she felt brewing behind her specular mien in check.

"Never seen an Elf before, _pentithen_?" ' _No, I certainly have not!'_

But an Elf? That explained a myriad of things that Lucy was feeling, and didn't made sense before. ' _What did Thorin say about Elves?'_ __Nothing worth of polite company that's what, and he did seem rather perturbed that she was privy to his mostly dark indignations. Some of that mistrust must have bled into her sub-consciousness, and as soon as she saw the object of Thorin's hate, she inherently reflected it like a debased emotional mirror.

This unsettled her in an indescribable manner at the same time that it offered comfort. ' _Because if Thorin left something of his in_ _ **me,**_ _I left something of mine in_ _ **him**_ _'_ was the selfish, disturbingly indistinct conclusion.

"No, never even heard of you" Only _House-_ Elves, but Lucy couldn't picture the beautiful creature standing in front of her pretending she wasn't baring her buttocks to the world to see, acting like a House-Elf. Her arms crossed self-consciously over her chest, and she hoped the movement to turn sideways, so that her rather exposed bottom half was disguised better and went unnoticed as well.

Human sensibilities were such curious things, Lucy knew, she's read about people who don't share modern world's modesty. But she did. And though Dwarrows in general don't believe in modesty to the same decree XXI century humans did, Thorin, as a king, was allowed a fancy bit of it.

Rawláeth kept that straight polite smile that had Lucy on edge. "Be that as it may, why do you not come along with me?" He had hair a shade of blond lighter than platinum, and it was very pretty and distracting as each individual strand caught on a shaft of light. The elf watched Lucy for a second more, prompting the witch to resist the urge to squirm. "Here, cover yourself with this" He finally broke eye contact and unclasped his cloak, delicately draping it over the witch' shoulders – effectively covering her up.

Safe from the chills and prying Elven eyes, Lucy relaxed minutely, losing herself in the coat's texture. Once she was coddled enough, her blurry green eyes (no glasses, everything was terribly unfocused) moved to Rawláeth again.

"Go where?"

"To Lord Círdan's halls. One little thing such as you must be taken for shelter, I am sorry I have not offered before, but now I do. Please allow me to escort you to safety from the ocean's unforgiving weather" Well, she was pathetically cold before the Elf relinquished his cloak – and a warm home might be luxuriously ideal.

Only Lucy grew up in Surrey, and though in the Dursley's neighborhood there were almost no crimes, Aunt Petunia still made sure to pound into Duddley's and Lucy's head the importance of _not following strangers_. ' _And Thorin only ranted about_ _ **one**_ _Elven Lord. Thranduil? Yes, although all Elves are equally disgusting, equivocal beings'_

"Who is this Lord Círdan?"

And Lucy bore witness to the light that sparked inside the blond Elf's eyes blooming like mid spring roses. Like as if stars lit inside them only at the thought of this Cirdan. It translated quite well the love this Elf might feel for this Lord.

"Lord Círdan is Lord of the Grey Heavens, all know him as Nowé the Shipwright, for he hosts the Eldar about to sail West and bids them safe travel. He is the oldest of our Kin West of the Misty Mountains" Not understanding Middle Earth history, most of the words went over Lucy's head, but she did absorb that this Lord Círdan was _old_ and _important_. "How is it… I mean, on the other side?"

Other side of what? Lucy's brow furrowed. "What other side?"

"Valinor, from whence you came" Rawláeth's eyes have dimmed, but Lucy ignored this. She still didn't trust fully a creature that Thorin spent so much energy hating, and then she somehow is found in the mercy of.

"I never saw it" True. Her Dwarrow's Maker just had her tossed on this beach in the name of practicality. "I simply woke up here" And Lucy didn't like when the elf's face filled with pity, as if she has lost something precious by not seeing Valinor. She's seen Hogwarts in its entire prime, she's seen smiling, relieved faces of her loved ones and she's seen death. Valinor was so utterly unimportant that she's forgotten about it entirely "Can we go now?"

"Of course. Lord Círdan shall have answers for all your questions, I have no doubt you must have many" He tried to masquerade the pity, but Lucy could still see it and begrudge him for it. The only thing she wanted was Thorin. ' _Where is he?'_ Out loud, she wanted to say. ' _Not really_ ' to the lots of questions, she, however, needed all the help she could get.

Until she _actually_ had Thorin.

 _And was finished wringing his neck_.

 **OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 01 End.**

 **OpqOpqO**

Preview of Chapter 02: The Elven Lord and his watery lair.  
Lucy is exposed to Cindarin and hates it.  
Thorin is proved right, but is still missing.  
Círdan is thoughtful but helpful.


	3. Círdan

**OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 02: Círdan**

 **OpqOpqO**

The Grey Heaven was a big, but largely abandoned harbor city. Being abandoned didn't make it less enchanting though.

The buildings were made of white marble and shone with a blue/green light reflected from the sea when the light hit little encrusted salt crystals. There was an extensive beach and wooden piers and docks, a few ships that were still under construction safely stored in tall dockyards – all beautifully and masterfully done in an unknown wood, carved to attractive details.

Most of what once must have been a splendid city, was still half abandoned.

Elves dressed in simple clothing came and went from the busiest building around – a great structure made of stone and wood weathered by the passage of time. There was a wide balcony that lent a glorious view of the sparkling ocean below, and that's where Rawláeth was leading Lucy.

"The Elves of Lindon's once great Harbor of Mithlond, now the last port between Middle Earth and Valinor. As you can see, not many remained, and I am one of those who shall sail in the next available vessel" Her Elven guide explained while they walked. As they crossed the main street, numerous Elves stopped in their way to stare at Lucy in curiosity. "I must tell you that I've dreamt of your coming _pentithen._ A lost child from East who'd need guidance" Lucy pretended she didn't hear. ' _Valar probably sent the dream'_ She noticed and shoved the thought away.

The continuous poke of many eyes following her around were what she was concerned with…

' _They must stare because I'm different'_ Lucy told herself, trying to ignore the feelings of multiple eyes on her back and shrug the memories evoked – She was not in Hogwarts under the scrutinizing eyes of her peers, judging if she was out to save them or really condemn them further. Each pair of eyes carrying various amounts of contempt and inside one of every dozen pairs, there she found pity – which was _worse_.

Her guide noticed her ply, for he offered a comforting and gentle smile.

"We are almost there" He pointed, and indeed, now the entrance arch of the Lord's home loomed over their heads. Twin columns enveloped lovingly in vines carved with marine themes.

The hall to Lord Círdan's house was vast and spacious.

High windows left enough sunlight in, at the same time, delicate pergolas broke the harsh salty wind before it could harm the stone structure with its corrosive property. Lucy felt like she was stepping inside Poseidon's temple, for all water related decorations that could be found about – from heavy metallic anchors to broken ship parts.

Then there was the Lord himself, who was standing in a quite prosaic position by the balcony. He cut a striking image, with his gleaming silver hair and impressively full beard. His robes were blue and silver, and his eyes shone the color of the sky when it met the sea in a perpetual good weather.

" _My Lord, I found_ Lucy _during my walks through the northern beach. The poor little one was alone and lost, and I offered her shelter in your realm"_ Rawláeth began, speaking only when the elvenlord's eyes rested on him and on Lucy with open curiosity.

" _Did she come from Valinor?"_ It was a question…

" _No. She says she woke up already on the beach"_

Sindarin – a memory snapped into place from Thorin's lecture about Elves and why they were detestable. Lucy knew she'd come to dislike that language anyway (and Elves with it) if the Elves kept speaking above her head in it.

" _You did the right thing, leave us now, I wish to have word with the little one_ " Rawláeth bowed his head the lowest he could without his hair dragging on the ground, stood, and then was gone to obviously join his friends after clasping her shoulder one last time.

Slightly betrayed, Lucy glared at her ex-guide's back until a rough chuckle drew her attention back to the Elven Lord.

"Rawláeth tells me your name is Lucy" The blond bearded elf remarked, not impressing Lucy in the least after having been under the undivided attention of Albus Dumbledore, whose beard was much more impressive. She nods all the same, aware that she was a guest in his house. "Is it true that you woke up on our shores?"

"Yes" Lucy bit her lips. Not liking being under such speculative eyes. The Lord's eyes were old and wise, alight with an inner light that made stars look dim. She was _not_ about to call him "her" Lord or anything though. ' _After Voldemort, I will not accept anyone as my Lord if I can help it!'_ So Sorry Lord Círdan, if you aren't recognized out loud. "First thing I saw was the beach, walked around a bit before I was found by Rawláeth"

' _And he should feel thankful I can still be polite to authorities figures'_ Ron didn't even bother anymore unless Hermione was nearby. It made for awkward excursions to the ministry.

"Interesting" Círdan hummed, impeccably still like a hauntingly beautiful marble statue, eyeing Lucy like she was the horizon he so obviously longed to reach. Deeply. "You are welcome to my home little one, though I find myself curious about your purpose here in Arda, I feel a great source power contained in you" Well. Surprise! Lucy froze, but kept eye contact, hoping he would continue to speak. "Do not be alarmed, I have lived many years and you are not the first of your kind I have met"

A kindle of hope was lit. Was there a chance that witches and wizards existed in this world?

"Are there others like me?" All Lucy could think of at that moment, was how Thorin once told her that Magic was slowly but surely trickling out of this world as the ages passed by once they got around discussing wizards. He'd dander and maunder about ages long past when Dwarrows could breathe life into magnificent toys when she showed him the limits of her magic by conjuring a dancing teacup.

"On this land there are Five. They are the Istari Order, Wizards" C'irdan's voice broke Lucy off her thoughts as a familiar word being spoken registered. Her face must have flashed the recognition, for her host hid a chuckle behind his beard "I see the word is familiar"

' _Tharkûn, Thorin's Wizard… he'd rant about him sometimes'_ Lucy considered back, scant few days in her perspective, when she'd been privy to Thorin's discussion with Tharkûn.

He'd say then. _I went to your father about reclaiming the mountain before._ And as if ignorant of the flowered blossom of pain lodging deep in her Dwarrow's chest, Tharkûn continued. _And now I come to you._ In Thorin's head, Lucy saw the circle of rage and betrayal start all over again. It was Tharkûn who sent his adad to his death, seeking a pointless query and tipping his family's balance aghast.

Both Thorin and Lucy had experienced meddlesome old men who were only after the so called _Greater Good_. ' **He does not mean slight** ' Thorin had to calm her down then. ' **He knows I long for Erebor, so he came to me with his plans. It is written between the lines that the reclaiming of our ancient home is not all** '

' _Why did you agree? You are being hunted, he showed you the note himself. He knew you wouldn't let the threat to your life come in your way, he practically baited you with it!'_

' **Why did** _ **you**_ **agree with going along Dumbledore's plans even though you knew the risks as well? Because you wanted peace, you wanted your home back and you wanted to keep your kin safe** ' Still, Lucy didn't trust well-meaning old men anymore. And neither did Thorin for that matter… but he was wiser than Lucy could ever hope to be and so he'd follow his intuition.

Back to the present, she nodded to Círdan, keeping check of her facial expressions.

"Quite familiar, I am a witch myself" She admitted tightly, seeing as Círdan could see she had power there was no use in hiding – but she didn't count on his surprise though.

"Since ages past, witchcraft and sorcery have been allied to the dark forces, yet I feel not an ounce of darkness in you. Your spirit is bright though tainted by grief and uncertainty, it is not evil" He told Lucy, walking closer to where she stood. His steps made no sound on the stone flooring.

Swallowing, Lucy shrugged with pretend aloofness, though she felt bothered by his words since they hit close to home. ' _I could have been evil, if I've never met Hagrid, Ron and even Draco, I might have turned like Tom Riddle'_. Hagrid was the one who 'saved' her from the Dursleys. Draco was the one who showed her what she did _not_ want to be. And Ron was the first friend she ever made, flaws and all.

"It is what I am though" Her fingers tingled uselessly with magic, reminding Lucy that she had no wand. "I have no means with which to use magic so it doesn't really matter"

Círdan approached another step, and stopped a few feet away, gaze searchingly over hers.

"I shall believe my eyes and experience little Lucy. My eyes see a lost and lonely soul that has potential to bring a lot of good to this world" His hand reached out to place a slight touch on her hair. Lucy let him, too entranced by his glittering, old eyes to care – he didn't see a pawn when he looked at her, he saw a gift, and it was slightly addicting to be looked at that way. "What is your purpose here, who sent you?" He had to ask.

Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat. "I… I asked to be here… Mahal… Aulë offered me a choice and I chose Arda. My purpose here is my own"

He didn't even blink at her little rudeness, the refusal to state her purpose was trivial to this old being. "Very well, I can respect your secrets as long as you tell me what you need to create a staff of power of your own"

"Holly, and something born and reborn of fire" Lucy answered quickly, greatly mystified and a little humbled. Heart pounding in her chest when she realized what was being offered. A Lord's trust and a _Staff of Power_.

"It shall be procured".

…

Círdan watched the short, raven haired witch as she stood with uncertainty written all over her. She was a curious little thing – a novelty to his constant boring life and one so very welcomed! He could see as clearly as he could the sun, the power that burnt inside her chest like a new star so full of possibilities...

Endless in potential and power, so very beautiful and so very sad. A small star contained in a Man's body, for she was mortal, unlike her immortal counterparts.

He remembered the splendorous day thousands of years past, at the beginning of the Third Age – the five Maiar sent by the Valar as a reminder that those left on Arda have not been forgotten.

The first two to grace his shores were Curumo and Morinehtar, who later became Saruman and Alatar. And a little bit later, came Olórin, the one who could see the bigger picture better than anyone else could, thanks to his large amount of caution. Olórin was unique in that because he feared Sauron, he was wise in keeping an eye on the enemy. Círdan then felt Olórin was meant to stay with Narya, and parted the ring to the Maiar with nary a thought and a lighter heart. Olórin became Gandalf, who still did everything to prove the Valar (and Círdan's) faith well placed.

After Olórin came, Yavanna sent her own Maia in the form of Aiwendil – who was taken with Curumo, and Morinehtar asked his friend Rómestámo to come as well. Five Maiar, five who completed the Istar Order, sworn not to abuse their power or addle with the will of the free people.

Almost two thousand years later, Círdan was _not_ expecting any more surprises from Valinor. The tides of change were about to crash on Arda, things were slowly setting into motion and the Eldar thought all players were settled on board.

It was not the case, it seemed, for divesting Círdan of all he thought he knew, was the girl with the wide green eyes and magic dancing at her fingertips. She'd come through Aulë's blessing, that had to mean something.

The old Lord smiled serenely to himself, he felt his years on Arda were diminishing rather quickly and that made him euphorically glad.

 **OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 02 End.**

 **OpqOpqO**

Preview of Chapter 03: Obstinate Potters gain gifts of Elven Lords.  
Lucy starts her new journey with a difficult first step.


	4. Fear

**OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 03: Fear**

 **OpqOpqO**

Lucy had to hold back a grin as she watched the Holly brought to her in Círdan's office. Actually, no, she couldn't hold that smile and felt her face was about to split in half.

According to wand lore – or the little she's read about regarding her own wand! – Holly was a wand for those impetuous and quick to anger, it also had fondness for choosing owners who had impending, quite dangerous quests. It was also known as the King of the Forest, from Summer Solstice to Winter Solstice, meaning from winter to summer.

Now, that wasn't enough to cause Lucy to feel so mirthful. What made the witch titter was that looking at the log of wood in front of her, she's remembered some wizarding lore in which they state that those paired with Holly Wands should never, _ever_ , marry those of Oaken wands…

Oak was the King from summer to winter, meaning Holly's counterpart in magical terms. The Oak wizard had to be loyal, strong and courageous (all could be used to describe both Thorin and Lucy, to further her amusement) – yet Lucy had no doubt that had Thorin the chance to pick up a wand, his would have been made of Oak.

Oak and Holly… ' _I wish Thorin was here_ ' So they could laugh over it together. ' _Yet he isn't here, is here?'_ No, he certainly was _not_.

The Lord's office was round and old, with arching bay windows that generously let light in – with piles upon piles of books and scrolls and maps of Arda all over the place. Círdan was sat behind his desk watching as Lucy tested the wood his elves brought her with a soft light in his eyes that spoke of fondness for the fascinating unknown.

"What has you so joyful?" His voice made Lucy turn up her head to stare at him, face still split in a rare, quite unwonted smile.

"It's the meaning behind the wood, it reminds me of something funny" The witch answered, hoping he wouldn't ask anything else. The Lord nodded, and just as she silently coveted, he didn't question her anymore. "Thank you, Círdan" She suddenly voiced, taken by how much she was being freely given and how little she was returning. If in all her life in Hogwarts, someone like Círdan existed, she would have had a much bigger appreciation for the magical world.

Círdan only smiled gently, unsuspecting of the current way her thoughts were going… or perhaps not, he seemed to be able to read right through Lucy.

He could see her youth, her passion and her ardent enthusiasm. It didn't offend him and he made sure to assure her of that. "I know you have not been forthcoming with your true mission here in Arda, but as I stated before, I feel I can trust you and your motives. Your time here in my realm is waning as the moon above us. You stare longingly at my maps" He readily changed the subject.

Lucy winced with a guilty little blink.

She might have been trying to catch sight of just _where the bloody hell is the Blue Mountains so I can deliver Thorin a well deserving wallop!_ But she busied her hands (and her mind) with the task she should be concentrating on. Creating a staff that felt comfortable to her like her old wands did (the Holly wand, Hermione's wand and the Elder wand) was harder than it seemed at first.

All the amusement has left her by now, leaving Lucy an empty, self-doubting shell of her earlier brilliancy. Quite downed now in self-wigging, she mumbled to Círdan. "I came here impulsively following my heart, and it's that what I must find"

Pitying her, the Lord nodded with conviction. "I shall clothe you, feed you and lend you equipment so you can take on the Eastern road. You can have one of my maps" He added, a quip on his lips that had Lucy's eyes sparkling again. "Finish your staff, I know not the way of Wizards, and even if I did, that is a task I cannot complete for you"

"Thank you" Lucy answered and did what he suggested.

And so Lucy spent some time with the Lord of the Grey Heavens, pouring over his maps and planning a route. If he noticed her predilection toward Dwarven Lands, he didn't say a word, though his eyes shone more and more with mischieful amusement.

It didn't take very long for Lucy to become frustrated over her venture into wood molding, however.

Cracking her head open in the task of creating a staff… well, it took three days until she lost her patience and begged Círdan, whose craft allowed him a measure of skill in _carving_ , to carve the wood for her. At least the Fire Stone was bluntly round enough that she wouldn't have to work on it to fix on the end of her staff.

Just a nook where the stone could be settled would do.

"I know you said you couldn't help, but please help me with this!" Her hands were raw from handling the wood in improper ways (she didn't know how to work with it, nor with the necessary tools). "I know nothing about wood carving" Admitting this might have made Thorin cringe in disdain, Lucy reflected she was _not_ Thorin, and though she had a fair sized ego, she understood the painless art of 'help asking'… ' _Something most males seem to be incapable of doing!'_

The Lord simply looked at her shredded hands and the amounts of splinters his guest managed to get wedged in her fingertips, with a mix between pity and amusement dancing in his brilliant eyes. Lucy glared. He chuckled warmly. "There is no shame in admitting a weakness, little sun, I shall help you carve your staff since that is not your craft"

To an ancient being like the Elven Lord, who spent thousands of years as a Shipwright, carving and building with wood day after day for a hundred times more years than Lucy has lived, all the Eldar had to do was spend a few minutes with a chisel and the block of Holly wood and suddenly Lucy had a staff.

A masterfully crafted Holly Staff that sung the song of magic and trembled in anticipation when it finally met her hand – a burst of raw power trickled from her scarred palm to the Holly, creating an imperishable, magical link.

Lucy didn't even know how to feel, so she just sat there staring numbly.

"Where do you want the stone?" The Elven Lord asked, snapping Lucy out of her stupor. He too has been mesmerized by the nova star inside the girl's chest sending out tendrils down to the unsuspecting wood – Elves knew all nature carried power and sentience, there are still a few Elves who could converse with trees, but to a little mortal creature like this daughter of Man to be able to bond to the wood as readily as she did… It was beautiful.

Lucy thought for a bit, flummoxed. Only Witches and Wizards too powerful for conventional wands picked up staffs. The last Wizard known for carrying a staff was a Nordic Dark Lord who entitled himself Lokison after the god of mischief – he lived before Grindewald, and his staff was lost when the museum it was stored in was attacked during World War I, so the only references to it were vague descriptions in History books.

Shaking her head to dispel thoughts of wars and Dark Lords from a land no longer her own, Lucy eyed her Holly staff carefully. "At the very tip, encased by the wood if possible" She'd still like to whack people on the head with it – a make shift weapon for a make shift witch-who-happened-to-be-Istar.

"Should I sharpen the bottom tip? Or perhaps hollow it so you can fix a proper blade" The Lord raised a bushy blond eyebrow. Lucy shook her head. _'I killed once, I am not killing again if I can help it!_ ' Her heart jumped in agony. The idea of carrying a blade was terrifying, not for the danger carrying such a thing entailed, but _by what she might be tempted to do with it._

Thorin had no problem killing. But the creatures he reaped were Orcs… A figment of conversation days ago flitted by, and Lucy concentrated on it.

' _You have killed before, how can you live with yourself?'_ She'd ask after sharing some of his gruesome battle memories. They were magnificent. Fierce and addicting. The blood pounding in their ear (Lucy and Thorin) and their enemies loud cries. The weight of a hammer, axe or sword in their hand and the crumbling skull they'd eventually leave it in.

And then Thorin's memories would fade in a fog of agony and remembered pain. He didn't care for battle. Not when it meant his kin would part early to Mahal's halls and he'd not see them again so soon, selfish as he was, he just wanted to have his family a little while longer in his grasp. Either way, he felt obliged to defend his blood thirstiness to his female half.

" **We Dwarrows were the first to face those abhominant creatures"** He started, sinking into another memory long past of his Amad teaching him and his brother lore on her knees. **"Orcs are beings of hate and pain, darkness and war. They were not created by the Valar, but were corrupted by the Dissonant One who spun contrary song to the Ainur"** The Valar, Lucy knew through Thorin, created the World of Arda through song. " **They have no soul, no mind, and only carnage can be wrought by their mutated hands. They have no value of Family, of Hearth, of Love.** " He trailed off, thinking of Azog.

' _Are they not people too?'_ questioned the girl, because how can you justify murder? " **Not people like you and I. They are corrupted monsters. Perhaps you can only understand once you've met one, and I pray fervently to the Great Forger that you never shall"**

That conversation left a sour taste in Lucy's mouth. She understood Thorin's point, she did. She'd tried to cling tightly to the fact that Voldemort was no longer human, that his soul was so fractured and bent that he no longer was part of the light… but Dumbledore's memories would come. Of a little lost boy forsaken by his blood family and forced to adapt on his own. A boy who only wanted to be recognized, a boy who never had _love_.

Back to the present, Lucy shook her head, forcing herself to return to Círdan.

"Not necessary, no" ' _I won't be using it for anything else other than casting spells'_ She promised herself quietly, while admiring her new staff with honest appraising eyes. Círdan finished in a moment or two, and was offering Lucy said staff back with a brilliant smile on his handsome face. _Elves_ … Lucy scoffed internally, channeling Thorin's disdain for only a second. _Smile on their pretty faces while they stab you in the back_.

Though Círdan wasn't about to stab her in the back. If anything, he seemed genuinely eager to help and shelter her. "It's… perfect, thank you" She spoke with genuine affection, surprising that cynical side of hers that thought she would never be able to join society again.

"You are welcome, little sun" He was gracious in his soft reply, the endearment at the end making Lucy's cheeks burn. "Come and rest for the rest of this day. Tomorrow you shall start your journey"

"Right" She handled the staff, testing the weight and height. It was the perfect size for her, falling comfortably in her grasp. It rose to mid waist, with the stone gleaming like a miniature sun at the tip – thin, curling vines of wood embraced the yellow/red gem gently, securing it into place.

Suffice to say Lucy spent the rest of her last night in the furthermost west wide awake and staring at her intricately decorated ceiling. Her mind going through a lot of things at once, her belly coiled tight in nervousness and anticipation, her muscles locked… Everything sprung in anxiousness. It was the same feelings she always got before a Quidditch match – only then, they were simple tingles took her breath away and not mini burst of adrenalin that kept her heart pounding madly.

The room she was in was lovely. Círdan gave her a guestroom in his halls, it was slightly smaller than the Gryffindor's dorm, but larger and wider than her lodge in the Dursleys. The ceiling was high, to better dissipate the boiling heat of warmer days, and the circular window had beautifully carved wooden panels that were opened, allowing a thin oceanic breeze to enter and cool her skin. There were all kinds of scenic paintings directly on the walls, as if someone took a brush to the plaster and happily drew away (maybe an old guest in the room, Elves are weird that way), from mountain ranges, thick forests to rivers and lakes, some even telling short stories that Lucy spent a few hours contemplating when she first settled in.

It helped her acclimate to Middle Earth. _It should have been Thorin, not an Elf!_

 _That wasn't helping her sleep, any help at all._

So Lucy crept out of her bed and robed herself, as to not startle anymore Elves with her bits – Rawláeth has sailed already after an awkward parting the day before, but she'd be forever embarrassed by their meeting – and silently toed out her room. She didn't know where to go, just walk around for a minute or two, just until her heart decided to be merciful and allow its owner a candid sleep. As it was, her feet took Lucy to Círdan's office, where the wall full of maps were.

"Little Sun" The Lord himself greeted, perched on his chair and reading out a thick and heavy tome. As all elves seemed to be, he was lovely, with his white gold strands of hair framing his face with the moonlight aiding with its light. Shaking her head, Lucy smiled up at him.

"Hi…" She inclined her head to an armchair, and when he nodded all magnanimous, she plopped down on it, cradling her head on her hands and sighing softly. "I'm sorry, can't sleep" Where did her composure go?

"It's understandable, you have a long road ahead of you" He spoke back, and Lucy could read what he thought written all over his face. ' _Pity. Compassion. He thinks I'm scared…'_

"S' not that" She mumbled sleepily. "S' not the long road, or the journey, or the dangers" What was it, that was so scary?

Understanding blossomed in the Lord's face then. _'I faced trolls, dragons, possessed professors (did I kill him too?). I swam with mermaids, rode a threstal, invaded the MoM. I went on a quest to destroy 7 Horcruxes, broke out of a bank on Dragon's back, was tortured half to death,_ _ **died**_ _, fought in a battle and came out victorious'_ And although she felt fear, she wasn't crippled by it because she knew that the moment she failed to rise to expectations, was the moment all was lost. _Was lost anyway_ – A snide voice croaked from deep within her mind.

 _What did you have then? After all was said and done? You were living by yourself, isolated by society and feared by your friends._

"You fear the outcome, the aftermath" Círdan pointed out, staring thoughtfully at Lucy. "In all the years I've been here, all the different faces I saw crossing over, none of them had calm beneath their eyes" He said, catching Lucy's eyes compassionately. "They do not fear the journey, and though they grieve for the ones they leave behind, what I see in their eyes is a small measure of trepidation, inquietude. Why, if they are going _Home_ , do they fear?"

"The Elves who cross West?" She mumbled in a half question.

"Yes, the Elves who cross West" The Elf confirmed.

Lucy's mind sluggishly thought about it, analyzing her own feelings and projecting to the Elves of whom Lord Círdan spoke of. It clicked after a moment or three. "Rejection" Her words came tremblingly.

"Precisely" Her host smiled kindly. "We all fear rejection, Little Sun, no matter one's race, education, occupation or age. You once told me you came to Arda after your Heart, do you truly fear being rejected by it?"

And only when the words came out of his mouth, did Lucy realize that what made her overly anxious. ' _It seems daft now that I'm aware of it! Why would Thorin send me away if his own god read his heart and extended a hand?'_

That same snide voice from earlier came back with renewed vengeance. _Because he wasn't here to receive me like he promised he would._ To which Lucy's more lucid mind would retort _'But did he, indeed, promise?'_ And her will to go out and hunt for that prat came back as well. ' _If the hill won't come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill (1)'_ As she'd read once upon a time a lifetime ago, in one of her primary school books.

' _If Thorin won't come for Lucy, Lucy will go to Thorin'_

"S'pose it's a little silly" Lucy admitted, already breathing lighter than she had in days.

"It is not _silly_ , borrowing your clever word, it is natural to have such fears Little Sun. Do not let them cloud your mind and heart though" Lucy nodded, blinking sleepily. She couldn't help but lament ' _Where was Círdan when I needed him in my other life?_ ' Noticing her lethargy, the Lord tilted his head toward the door. "Perhaps it is time to adjourn to our chambers, least in the morrow you are too fatigued for travel"

"M' used to it" She confessed. "Waking up early, having few hours of sleep. Nightmares" But nonetheless Lucy grumblingly climbed to her feet, and bid the lord one last grateful grin, missing the way Círdan's face blanketed in keen interest. He wasn't disguising his curiosity for Lucy.

But she missed it.

Tomorrow. She promised herself. She'd step into this adventure without any fears – because there was _no way_ Thorin would abandon her.

She wouldn't let him.

' _And we all know how obstinate Potters can be, right dad?'_

There is something to be said about a morning in which we know our lives will be forever changed.

Lucy found herself under the tall archway that marked entrance to the harbor Elven city. She was freshly adorned in a modest (to Elves), magma red tunic tied at her waist by a leather strip serving as a belt, with small golden beads at the tips. A pair of neutral colored leggings, and on her feet, sturdy boots with distractingly shiny metallic buckles. A travelers cloak shielded her shoulders and head from the elements. It was a comforting cream color with detailed golden stitches at the hem and hood, contrasting heavily with her starkly dark hair which curled lovingly around her face.

To complete her 'traveler's looks' off, Lucy was leaning heavily on her new staff. The red stone gleaming like a little ember at the top of it, catching and reflecting sunlight and heat.

"You can always stay here" Círdan offered one last time, radiating piousness in troubling waves.

"Thank you, but I must go" Lucy averted her eyes from his. She was tired of pity, of feeling like she was made of glass when she'd stepped on it barefoot without flinching even once.

The Lord smiled lightly as if he knew that would be her answer all along. It only irritated Lucy a bit, even if she felt consternated by her hot'n'cold thoughts of the Elven Lord. One time she was grateful by his pity, another she was resentful. ' _Make up your mind Lucy!'_

"Travel only through the Elven path. It safely crosses the Blue Mountains and goes through the Shire and to Imladris, or Rivendell in the common tongue. Should your path find Rivendell, indulge in Lord Elrond's welcoming halls. He is a gracious host and an old friend of mine. He shall give you shelter and advice in my stead"

Lucy shifted the bag over a shoulder to pull out the rolled up map Círdan gifted her earlier, when he was also giving her gear. The map showed the Grey Heavens West of the Blue Mountains. She'd have to go Northeast if she wanted to reach the Dwarven settlement there – though something was telling her she wouldn't find Thorin in the Blue Mountains at all.

"I will, thank you for everything, Círdan" Lucy spoke with all the sincerity she could squeeze out in her voice and eyes.

The Lord simply smiled down at her. "Stay safe, Little Sun, may our paths cross again someday"

"I sincerely wish I could say the same" Her mouth worked before she could curb it. "If we do meet again, it means I failed…"

He chuckled, not offended in the least. "Just give yourself the first step, the rest should come easily after that"

"Yeah" Lucy agreed, sighing and _giving that first step_.

Círdan was right. The following steps came rather easily considering her uncertain future. ' _No. I won't let my future be uncertain anymore. I_ _ **will**_ _find Thorin, and I_ _ **will**_ _make him pay for standing me up, then I_ _ **will**_ _hold on to him and never let go_.

As soon as she left, however, the elven Lord spent a minute or two contemplating the pro's and con's about sending word to Gandalf about the arrival of Lucy

…

\- If the hill won't come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill – from The Essays of Francis Bacon, 1625 – means stubbornness or boldness… if the situation won't bend to you, you must bend to the situation.

 **OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 03 End.**

 **OpqOpqO**

Preview of Chapter 04: Lucy's first official day in Middle Earth.  
Orc cook pot.  
Dol Guldur agents and Azog spies.


	5. Journey to the East

**OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 04: Journey to the East.**

 **OpqOpqO**

She could see the white tipped mountains rising up against the horizon. It literally took Lucy's breath away. The sheer contrast between sky and the gleaming mountain peaks haloed just so by the sun was glorious.

The snow caps reflected the blue of the sky and created a bright cyan color around the mountain tops, truly making the range deserving the moniker of Blue Mountains. Not even having seen the view through Thorin's eyes when he lived in her head has prepared Lucy for the breath taking beauty forming all around her.

From the green of the grass and trees to bright vivid colors of flowers and animals, everything seemed more lively than the Earth she left behind. The air wasn't clogged by dirt and smoke – rich in oxygen, cleansing her lungs and making Lucy feel giddy and light headed with every breath.

No sounds of honks or traffic, no electronic hum or people bustling about, just pure country side paradise that actually extended to the entire continent – Not even St. Ottery Catchpole where the Weasleys and Luna lived could compare, and their land was large by muggle standard (being inherited by Arthur from his Black grandmother), relatively secure and warded against muggles who'd take upon themselves to farm the land around.

Paradise. Lucy decided as she tracked through a visibly busy road that connected the Blue Heavens to the first slope of the mountain range – then she'd have to find a path she'd be most comfortable with – from the main earth beaten road that would lead her to the Dwarf market up northwest or straight to the Shireland (from whence she'd be able to find the path to Rivendell – Elves were _very_ straight in their path making).

Paradise…

Could really use a broom right now.

' _I've only been walking for a couple of hours and am already complaining about it?'_ Lucy mused to herself, skipping over rolled rocks and the moderately deep trenches left by barrows' wheels. Her boots were big enough that she wasn't getting wedged in the hooves' print left on the dirt, but skipping around was tiring for a witch whose only interest in sport involved a broom. ' _I should have exercised more!'_ Well, there would be plenty of time to do that now.

Exercising and Sight Seeing. Lucy admitted to herself in that wedged dark corner of her mind that Thorin might be in season, and she better start sharpening the picket.

Her staff proved to be a god send in more ways than one during her first traveling hours, for when she paused for lunch (a small munch of Elven way bread _Lembas_ and a sip of water), her legs were so tired that every step made her shake like a leaf. Thus using the staff as an extra leg to take weight off her untried thigh muscles.

And being utterly alone wasn't helping with the exhaustion at all. ' _At least when I tracked all over Brittain the last time, I had Hermione with me'_ … At least until her friend broke her wand, Lucy was very, _very_ thankful that Hermione didn't leave her behind like Ron did. Even if he came back in the end, being there every step of the way and enduring what seemed like a March of Death at the time – they were two young women by themselves in a big wide world… They could have used a supportive male hand.

Lucy sighed. "The road is long indeed" She mumbled grouchly under her breath, stumbling on a pile of upturned dirt and almost face planting on the mud. Wishing she at least had a friend to share the scenery and the smell of horse dung with.

…

A day of walking later didn't prove a lot of changes, if one doesn't count the mercurial turn Lucy's mood took.

The mud should have been a clue, actually, one that Lucy managed to ignore _until_ the sky blackened around mid to late afternoon and heavy looking dark, menacing grey clouds occluded over the setting sun like an undesirable, thunderous curtain. The wind picked up with a cold vengeance, forcing the young witch to huddle under her travel cloak and laden it with warming charms that kept her pleasantly toasty throughout the brewing storm. As soon as the first heavy rain drops came crashing down in a wet cacophony, Lucy had her hood pulled over her head and was as heavily charmed against water as the number of spells she could remember and managed to cast awkwardly with the staff.

Though warm and relatively dry in the midst of a storm, making progress was a bit of a task and a half. The muddy road became a sodden, realistic bog imitation when the wheel barrow's wedges filled with rainwater and transformed into muddy trap pools. Her leather boots, although doing a wonderful job of keeping her feet safe from it all, offered no aid when it came to waddling knee deep in the inundation of water, soil and horse waste (and who knows what else!).

Weary didn't even start to describe Lucy. ' _Better find shelter!'_ She told her half-dazed brain when it lacked the energy to produce a productive thought. ' _Shelter sounds like a good idea'_ so the witch clutched her staff and with sheer power of _will_ – a convoluted mess of _wish, desire, will_ and _desperation_ – which resulted in a wistful _POP_ and Lucy's immediate disappearance.

A few miles south of the (safe, _safe_ ) road, in a dark and now dank, damp and smelly cave Lucy re-appeared. A shivering pile of witch, furs and a cloak that staggered on unsteady legs until her back found a most uncomfortable wall to slide down on. Lucy didn't remember much, exhaustion making her thoughts all fuzzy and desperate – the only thing registering was the lack of water falling crushingly out of the sky and that her throbbing legs were now having a chance to rest.

It didn't take long for a day's worth of travel to really dawn on Lucy, for with a large and tired sigh, the witch barely remembered to cast another warming charm on "her" cave before succumbing to an uneasy – though quite fast – sleep.

…

" _It lo' tasty_ " The first, the one who spoke, was a tall, hulking beast with dark tinted skin and thick hair twistedly decorated. ' _Is that a bone?! It is a bone!'_ The second didn't really have much in the fashion department, being slightly shorter than his friend but a lot thicker in both shoulder and chest.

" _It do lo' tasty_ " the second agreed. Lucy winced, already hearing the warning bells her knackered brain refused to pick up the night before. The language they spoke was raw, rough and ugly, as if all discordance in the universe went into the lingual coding. _Black Speech._ Thorin's darker memories were filled with verses in that fowl tongue. _Orcs. I've been ambushed by Orcs!_ Came the next immediate thought.

The storm has stopped, though a thin drizzle still blanketed the cold night coming from the few persistent clouds, though a sliver of moonlight miraculously managed to make its way into the cave Lucy hastily apparated to. Now that she was more awake, the witch was chastising herself with a vengeance only Mad Eye Moody could achieve. ' _Constant Vigilance! He'd say every five bloody seconds. How long it took for me to lower my guard again?'_

A _second_.

In her defense, she's been walking the whole day without any memorable stop to rest, eager to find Thorin and be reunited with him. _Why couldn't the powers that be deem her worthy of a broom?_ Alas, no broom, so old school walking until she was able to come up with another method of transportation. ' _Shame I can't use my staff…'_ It didn't have the necessary amount of bristles!

Though a bristled staff was an amusing thought… it could theoretically fly like a broom.

" _How 'bout we coo' it?_ " First questioned, hunched over Lucy' sprawled form – she's been peeking through half lidded eyes at the ones who interrupted her sleep. " _It's all skin an' bones. Cookin' allow me n' ya to eat better"_ He spoke in a reasoning tone, Lucy wished she could understand them.

And that language! It caused the very shadows dancing in the corners shiver to a parody of life. Twisted like knives in Lucy's mind and heart. "… **Perhaps you can only understand once you've met one, and I pray fervently to the Great Forger that you never shall…"** Thorin's words echoed around her head, now linking the thought of having no hesitation in vanquishing the creatures.

It became a moot point when both Orcs made to grab her, prompting Lucy to dart to her feet in a flurry of dark coal colored hair and cloak. The two were even uglier up close, and were barricading the witch from the cavern's slim entrance. Unfortunately, Lucy was so focused on the beings in front of her, that she missed a third Orc spawning from the dark crevices of the cave, rising from the shadows and lowering his mace upon the unaware witch's head.

Orcs, Lucy decided right before the world faded to black, were _everything Thorin told her they were_.

…

Her head was pounding something fierce. Her eyes felt swollen and pain flared from somewhere near her scalp. Her neck was stiff and her spine radiated agony. ' _Twice in the same night'_ Lucy struggled with her thoughts coherency. ' _Moody must be rolling in his grave… as must be Snape'_ She thought with some amount of guilty, vindictive viciousness. It was ridiculous to feel vindicated by being captured by Orcs and expecting to be teaching Snape a lesson.

He'd be more likely to give the Orcs cooking tips. _It's a shame he and Aunt Petunia were never friends, they would have got on like a house on fire_. Just imagining it made shivers run down her battered back. Severus Snape and Penunia Dursley, together in their epic crusade to make Lucia Polaria Potter's a living hell. " **One day, you will comprehend what a debt of honor entails"** Thorin said once, because he could see her life and actually have the benefit of almost two hundred years of having to deal with being a fallen Durin King. " _He spent seven years in love with my mother, then spent another eleven mourning her… when he met me, he spent another seven years protecting me and I was the last thing he saw when he died… I don't know what I can do to pay this debt, I don't even know if there_ _ **is**_ _a debt at all!"_ Her dad _did_ save Snape from becoming werewolf chow.

" **The Seven Kingdoms came to my father's aid when he asked and he led all those brave, fearless and loyal soldiers to their death. They believed that King Thraín would be the one to lead them to greatness after our Home was taken from us. As my father's heir, it falls upon me to have our Home restored to us, even if it means my own demise"** ' _It's not fair'_ Lucy thought back, but she understood somewhat because after Dumbledore died, all she could do to keep her sanity was follow the old man's "will". When the old failed, the young might prosper. " **Indeed**... **It weighs on my back, this honor bound duty"**

Well… Neither Snape nor Dumbledore were here (much less Thorin)… and that was the reality reassessing itself as the witch became conscious again.

Lucy woke up a little more from her 'nap' with a foul taste in her mouth.

Twisting around her shoulder and hips to test the bonds tying her hands and ankles to the wooden spike – like a roast – a pig strung over the fire to be roasted. Eyes now wide though still bloodshot, Lucy struggled a little more to the point where her pained neck was able to roll her head to a further angle.

Her first suspicion proved right. Lucy was strung over a fire, divested from her outer cloak and boots. To her horror, her wild curly hair was precariously close to the growing smothering ambers, steadily gaining heat and turning into a fire. _That will soon catch on my hair!_ What a time to get vain too… Well, it served the purpose of doubling Lucy's fear, as if being slowly cooked over a fire by a band of Orcs wasn't bad enough – they had to ruin her hair. _**"You have beautiful hair… wish I could dote upon it and cover each strand in jewelry…"**_ From behind the mirror's reflection, she could almost see her tenant's blue eyes.

' _Yeah… What a time to get vain…_ ' Though brooding right now was unadvisable, so Lucy kick started her enviously sharp survival instincts. ' _Its not like I believe they will succeed in cooking me'_ Hopefully her Potter luck would kick in anytime soon and she'd go on her merry way. ' _But my hair won't be a gonner!'_ The Orcish connoisseurs of good cuisine were huddled in various spots of their camp site, obviously in greater number than three. ' _ **They tend to raid in large numbers**_ _'_ Thorin's voice echoed deep in her memories, making Lucy wince.

She should have known there wouldn't be only _two_ Orcs and never let the third catch her by surprise. ' _Let this serve as a lesson'_.

The heat wave was starting to rise and being above a lit fire was getting uncomfortably hot. Lucy tried to struggle a bit more, but only managed to lose more of her hair that dangled down her back, almost touching the ambers. ' _That is not burnt hair smell'_ She told herself, keeping positive. ' _Merlin! Where is Hermione when I need her?... Or Thorin?'_ Better rescue herself then. _How to escape from an open flame while immobilized with ropes and zero prospects of being rescued?_ There was once a story she read, once upon a time so long ago it felt like a life time away.

' _Witch hunts… there was a witch, Wendelin the Weird, who purposely allowed herself to be captured at least forty seven times by the Inquisition to be burned, because she liked the feeling… No… she liked the effect of the Flame Freezing Charm… how did it work?'_ Lucy tried hard to remember what she knew about that particular charm, it should prove to be very in handy right about now.

' _It does not have an incantation, that I'm sure. Nor distinct wand movements. Then its just intent!'_ That was not hard. Intent was everything in magic. Her _intent_ , while spinning helplessly above a fore pit was _not to burn to death_. Thank you for noticing. ' _Work magic! I don't have my want (or staff) right now, but it has to work!'_

Soon, as if a summer breeze suddenly decided to invade the inner crevices of her smalls, Lucy shivered in horrified delight when she realized just _why_ Wendelin the Weird wanted to be continuously burned.

At least she wasn't sweating anymore… and her hair was safe.

…

Muk stared at the camp. Tarod and Murduk were tending to their roast while Frug and Dalthu milled around wasting time. Pargu, Borkul and Hig (who was of Frug's loins) were counting their plentiful loot. There was enough to go around for all of them it seemed. Urag and Urgan (they were brothers, not that it mattered) were trying to kill each other as usual, not interesting. His eyes snapped back to the dinner.

They found the little female inside their cave when returning from a hunting trip. There were a handful of able Orcs in their group, all under specific orders from Dol Guldur to locate the fallen King Under the Mountain – Thorin Oakenshield – and secure him for their leader.

The pale Orc, Azog. Since he was big, fearless and apparently felt no _pain_ , he gathered a lot of grudge respect from the others – specially their Lord, who found wicked amusement in Azog's hatred for the line of Durin. _If it didn't serve our Lord's purpose, Azog wouldn't be so smug about his position_. As it was, Azog and his equally as ugly offspring were currently enjoying a bit of a boom.

Which meant, for the rest of the Orcs horde, that they had to abide by the mutant's word… And his word was ' _Find me Thorin Oakenshield!'_ In not so many syllables and a lot more growling.

Didn't mean they couldn't _find_ something else. Like a little female from the race of Men who foolishly thought to have shelter in their cave. And Loot. Muk thought. He liked treasure and killing and violence as much as the next Orc.

"Thorin Oakenshielf followed this road to Bree. We've sent word for bounty hunters" Frug commented to Dalthu when they settled down on a log. Their Wargs tended for by the pair – at least for _that_ they were useful. Muk approached them to join their conversation.

"As if they're ever going to get paid!" Dalthu growled out. Muk agreed.

"They don't need to know that to do their job, and ours" Muk added, causing the two Orcs under his command to hiss a little laugh.

"That Dwarf scum is heading to Bree, that's what the trackers said" Frug repeated needlessly. "Azog must be notified soon"

Muk bared his sharpened teeth. "He will. And we will get _our_ reward from the Lord _and_ Azog. The Defiler will bath in the blood of Durin and will be so gleeful that he won't notice when an extra spear has pierced his hide" _Killing him_. Were his unspoken words. Dalthu spat out a glob of spit so black it made Muk wonder what he's been eating. Or if he still had teeth at all.

"No one will miss that ugly beast" True. Although freakishly powerful, Azog was as pale as a moonlight lit Elf and as tall as one as well. As a pup, he's been beaten mercilessly and treated as pod scum, until he grew tall enough to tear strips of skin from the ones who once were beating him. "Though he is chief" Dalthu pointed out.

"Matter not. He will die and another will be chief" Muk said, trying to keep the greed out of his eyes. It didn't work. Frug caught on and grinned sharply.

"His successor is Bolg" That made Muk snarl and his Orcs recoil a little.

Dalthu tactfully changed the subject. "What about the female?" He asked, prompt more than three heads (there were more Orcs eavesdropping in their conversation than he'd have thought) to the aforementioned dinner.

Their dinner apparently decided it didn't _want_ to be dinner, and was sitting _inside the flames and staring at them with sparking eyes of green fire_.

Frightened and weary – not everyday they failed to burn a puny little daughter of Man to a crisp, the Orcs under Muk roared and reached for their weapons. The female tilted her head, lifting her flimsy little arms in a placating manner and opening that tiny mouth of hers to speak in the common tongue. " _Can't we reach a spoken agreement? My name is Lucy and I am a witch, you can't burn me"_

And wouldn't Azog be interested in that?

"What is that?" Pargu questioned. Muk turned back to see whatever it was that Pargu was pointing at and only had a moment to gape, for the next the flame colored light was slamming against his head and he was left seeing stars.

Their dinner, called Lucy, was also a _witch_. She jumped out of the flames scattering ambers all around and jumped toward her staff on top of their loot pile. As soon as her slim little hands touched the bright wood, there was a whirlwind of burning ash and light, and then…

All Orcs were dozing in painful positions on the ground and their supposed dinner was running away after finding her cloak, bag and staff.

Azog would be informed as soon as the handful of Orcs woke up from their nap. Lucy wasted no time scurrying away, leaving quite an impression on the Dol Guldur agents.

…

As Lucy ran, she was wondering to herself… what is the price she'd have to pay for not _killing those things_ … all she could do was wish Thorin was there to tell her it was alright. Alas, he was _not_. But she did find something interesting in the Orcs' rubbish pile.

A map, roughly drawn with coal on a ragged piece of leather and smudged horribly. It depicted a familiar looking road with a land mark she recognized. _She had to reach the Blue Mountains, and soon._

 **OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 04 End.**

 **OpqOpqO**

Preview of chapter 05: Lucy meets someone new.  
Thorin is _not_ where he is supposed to be.  
Dwarrows are confusing.

AN: About the timeline… I dropped a few hints, but maybe I'm being too subtle? Thorin went to Lucy on his way to Bree, after coming from the Iron Hills and his meeting with Daín – he's assembling his company and as the orcs know, still hasn't been found, so before leaving the Shire. Oh, and I'm sure you have your theories about _why did Thorin leave Lucy?_ I'm not spoiling anything more though!


	6. Path Finder

**OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 05: Path Finder.**

 **OpqOpqO**

Lucy's clothes, very early that day, were relatively in order. Now though, the story's different.

Filth clung to her in heavy, smelly clumps. Bits of dried mud chaffed on every big of exposed skin possible after being dragged on the ground by good, gracious orcs - and her once impeccable hair tied into a braid was loosely hanging around her face and shoulder like a particularly difficult greasy curtain thanks to being left unwashed for a day and a half and on top of it, exposed to rainwater.

Honestly? Her feminine side was battered, bruised and utterly humiliated.

But that larger side of hers, the one which craved adventure, was singing in joy and liberty. It was… grand - Lucy decided, shaking off the worst of the dirt and using her magical staff to clean the rest.

The newly born sun was shyly peeking through lingering clouds, but the sky couldn't be clearer even if it was deliberately painted that way by a divine hand. There was a slightly cold, drafty wind coming from northwest, and as the light dawned on the new day, Lucy watched as the sky literally parted before her to reveal Ered Luín.

At a closer distance, it was even more beautiful and sublime.

Refreshed by the sight - and in a considered better mood - Lucy finished cleaning herself the best she could without a clear source of water and the best of cleaning charms she knew – there weren't many beside the basic cleaning, polishing and disinfecting charms – since her "education" always leaned more toward dueling spells than household tricks. But the staff was doing a magnificent work, even if doing wand movements with a three and a half pole was an itty bit more awkward than she thought at first. The Holly practically vibrated under her tingling, eager fingers, and the fire stone gleamed with power under the glare of the sun as if a small shard of its brilliancy has been captured.

With a revitalized breath, Lucy then pulled out the map Círdan gave her to check for landmarks and if she could find back the Elven Road.

"Crickey!" That was the sound Lucy made when she realized she was on the complete opposite path she should have been.

While the path to Ered Luin from Mithlond was relatively straight forward by following along a crafty useful elven made road that ran along the River Lhún – since the Grey Heaven port city was conveniently located in said river's gulf. Though having apparated blind that earlier night has punted Lucy off her path by a long, wide margin…

Taking a deep, calming breath, the little lost witch deemed the burning of neurons a complete must if she hoped to position herself… ' _What's the name of those muggle things again? GPS! Wish I had one'_ Alas, Middle Earth has not reached Industrial stage yet and so there were no Transmission Satellites orbiting it. So Lucy focused on the brunt of Thorin's memories of his land and pulled them up, using all her concentration at the matter of hand.

After a while her efforts were worth it.

The map in her hands suddenly gained a new dimension – staring at it through Thorin's eyes, she could easily position herself by imagining all the mountains and paths rising before her. Sharp green eyes found Ered Luin and compared it to the position of the sun – The mountains rose west, in front of the sun's path and looking at the other landmarks, Lucy managed to narrow her position to somewhere East of the Lhún and close to the Tower Hills. Found, the witch concentrated hard on remembering the path she took when leaving Círdan's halls, only to sag tiredly when she couldn't remember with precision the road so she could apparate back.

Destination, Determination, Deliberation – If one tried to Apparate without any of these clearly in their minds, the results were often unpleasant… if not painful. Lucy, as someone who has used Apparition with Accidental Magic was quite prolific in it, and if she pushed it like she did last night, then her magic could map out her intentions and seek a solution by tolling a high price on her stamina… but magic was subjective, thus a cavern filled with trolls.

' _If the path before you is uncertain, and there is a clearer, but longer path beside it, then your life would thank you if you take that one instead'_ Lucy and Duddley's primary teacher used to tell their class when the subject of crossing the street was broached – rather lose a minute in life than life in a minute, was the broader message. As much as crossing a busy street had nothing on exploring a new world the principle was the same.

Alas, Lucy thought, if she was splinched and lost a couple of body parts through Arda, she would feel horribly regretful.

Well, only one option.

Lucy's feet started moving.

And whoa, was the raven haired witch grateful! For the view alone the long walk was worth the effort.

There was an easy accessible bridge that crossed the Lhún a little West from where she was. Luckily, according to Círdan and Thorin's memories, there was a small and enclosed Elven community on the West façade of Ered Luin. The market there used to bustle in activity, in a time when Dwarrows and Eldar held hands in friendship.

Círdan, who remembered those times, spoke of fond remembrance of the exciting Dwarven crafts mingled with the more delicate Elven ones in a single, beautiful place. After the Dwarrows of Erebor came, they also brought with them a heavy, consuming enmity against Elves, and the remaining community of immortals in Ered Luin was further alienated. In a few more years, it was possible that the last of the Elves of Ered Luin would be sailing.

Not that it was skin off Thorin's nose.

The less Elves around the better. ' **Backstabbing, traitorous creatures…'** For a moment, as she walked and thought, his voice echoed briefly prompting Lucy to cling to it for another moment, relishing in the warmth and understanding. Thorin's hate was familiar and painful, and oh so very comforting.

Path never ending in front of her, Lucy just kept walking. She was used to being lonely, and could work through it as long as she didn't brood too much!

…

Night fell quick and swift.

Cold wind biting her cheeks and painting them pink. Trees rustled around the Elven path in a familiar natural song that soothed her nerves. The stars shone with unnatural clearness overhead, and Lucy thought that she was committing a miracle by managing to walk with her head tilted up to stare at the beauty tented above.

 _Bzzzz…zzzzzzzzzzz…..zzzzzzzz…zzzz-land._

 _Pinch!_

 _Slap._

Quick movements of a hand in a grand show of sleigh cut through the magically illuminated night as Lucy was using one hand to hold up her lighted staff, and the other to deftly defend herself against these little, flying, buggering vampires.

The rain the night before plus the proximity to a river meant the pesky creatures would be out and about in a frenzy to feed on the nearest source of warm blood.

"Why didn't I ever learn a mosquito repellent charm?" Lucy lamented to herself – waving between having light (and mosquitos) or traveling in the darkness (without mosquitos) but risking tripping and falling on her face. A star lit sky plus a half waning moon meant that the darkness wasn't that encompassing, but Lucy was nearsighted, and that meant her eyesight was even more horrible during nighttime.

Bzzzzzz…zzzzzzzzzz…zz-land.

 _Slap! Slapity Slap!_

Three consecutive slaps later and Lucy was sporting a brand new bright red handprint on her left cheek, forehead and neck – product of continuously shamelessly spanking herself. The lumos on the tip of her staff wavered as her magic bubbled in annoyance. ' _Would notice-me-not spells work on mosquitos?'_ The witch wondered, wasting no time in testing her hopeful theory and casting the spell on herself.

A brief breath later, and Lucy contested with great relief and smugness that _no,_ bugs are not immune to Notice-me-nots – an Hermione-like voice in her head explained ' _Notice-me-not and muggle repellant spells work by forcing the brain to forget it ever noticed something different'_ So the bugs were actually comically forgetting Lucy was there, she giggled to herself, wondering if in a different world Hermione would ever think about this at all.

Giddiness successfully dampened, Lucy kept on walking, careful not to trip on fallen branches or reaching roots, cheered somewhat by the lack of bugs to annoy her.

 _Slap!_

…

"Huh…?" There was no new sting sensation on her cheeks – although the skin still throbbed slightly – but there clearly was a slapping sound. Lucy looked down at her hand, innocently hanging listlessly by her side as if it might contain answers, alas, it did not as at that same moment another sound reverberated through the trees.

 _Slap! Slap! Slaptslapslap!_ Followed by low, growling voices, so obviously complaining that it took a second and a half for Lucy's brain to catch up – It's not as if she was expecting company in the middle of a forest path! "Mahal's beard! These creatures are going to suck us dry!" The voice snapped. Annoyed. In Khuzdul.

"Amad advised us to take that salve but no, you had to be impulsive" Another voice, this one lighter but still unmistakable male, answered back in equal amounts of aggravation. The words in Khuzdul were particularly adept at conveying feelings, Lucy thought, as Thorin's mind imprinted his primary language in her head and absorbed fractals and nuances from her own language that didn't exist in his land.

…

' **We shared the bottom of Erebor with Dale** ' The picture of a fortress city sprawled at the foot of the mountain. Thousands of people trailing through the streets, markets full and lively, the smell of local delicacies wafting up from down Thorin's balcony as he observed it all, pointing out important shops or houses to Dís, his younger sister, who delighted in learning new things. ' **Oft there were business between us. The Men bled out the surplus produced in Erebor through the Celduin along side large barges, carrying precious metals, grain and craft down the river and to the East** ' He shared with Lucy the delicious feeling – a deep, engraved _love_ for his lands and his duties. ' **All Dwarrows actively had to deal with the Men of Dale, so learning the common tongue was diligently encouraged by the Guilds, and it was an obligation of mine as heir'**

Dwarrow were… _Are_ ridiculously protective of their language.

Like Síndarin, Kuzdul carried magic of its own and was a very precious tool to the Dwarrows, seeing as the Seven Kingdoms sprawled far and wide throughout the land, all Dwarrows had a basic, raw point in common and that was their language – Even the Elves had dialects preferred by the different locus they chose to live in or their ancestry!

It was xenophobic of them, in a way, Lucy knew. but Thorin digressed. ' **It is our right, our treasure, the key to our craft, culture and magic. If one outside knows our language, they can decipher our texts and disseminate that which we make our trade – each dwarrow knows to protect our language by not speaking it in front of other people since we've learned it.'** Lucy, despite Thorin's growling protests, contacted Hermione.

"There existed immensurable numbers of cultures all around the Earth. Some were welcoming of outsiders, some were not – and some had good reasons not to trust outsiders! You should read a bit about World War I Lucy, or perhaps look upon the fall of the Maia. But I think based on what you told me about Thorin, that his people are just hoarders"

To which Thorin replied through Lucy's lips. ' **And your wizard kind does not exactly the same?** ' And Hermione learned not to insult someone with a mind as sharp as Thorin when it came to political debates. Wizards, after all, hoarded all the knowledge about Magic and kept it hidden from the normal folks. They had no idea that the innocuous, seemingly abandoned building across Charring Cross Station was actually the entrance to a complete new World hidden just underneath their noses. ' _Though muggles can't use magic, I see your point'_ Lucy conceded. It was **not** the same thing, but the basic was consistent in both cases.

The culture is ours, we chose whom we want to share it with.

And there was none of XXI century mankind sensibilities where the whole world was accessible to everyone – Arda was a ruthless place despite its misleading beauty.

…

And then there stood Lucy, lurking between the trees with her incandescent staff and a gob smacked expression on her face. The pair Dwarrows, oblivious to their little stalker, continued bantering good naturally.

"Impulsive?! You're the one who insisted on following after Uncle!" The one who had a lighter voice was also fair in coloring, with a dusty blond colored hair pulled back from his eyes by a collection of braids – his beard was shockingly short ' **Dwarrows who wear their beard short are dwarrows whose honor are due** ' "I was the only one supposed to come, little brother, you should have stayed at home with Amad and bantam Gimli" He said importantly and something ached at the back of Lucy's head.

There was a half strangled laugh "If you came, of course I would come as well! Who else would be there to guard your back?" The words and tone were earnest, so sincere that Lucy lurched back a step so she could take a breath. This one was dark haired, not possible to precise a color at this time – he also had a short beard and an honest, achingly familiar proud face.

Something was bothering her, tickling incessantly at her head ever since she laid eyes on the pair.

' **Dís, sister, sister-sons, Kíli, Fíli, raunchy, playful, loyal'**

Those were Thorin's nephews, weren't they?

An itch started at the base of Lucy's throat and swelled until she could hardly breathe. Her unsteady feelings broke the light spell from her staff, plunging her world into darkness that was hardly noticeable since the _nephews_ fire flickered amber light as far as the trees she was using as shields. From the shreds of heed that remained within the witch, she saw as the brother's eyes flickered to her for a second, and then returned to their fire as if she wasn't even there…

Blood bubbling like fire under her skin, Lucy slid down the tree she's been using as support, simply to watch the dwarrows in front of her. "Somewhere, I'm sure someone must be laughing at me" She heaved out, breathless. To have found such treasures lost in the same woods she was! The two… the two represented a bridge, Lucy hoped, between her path and Thorin's.

… She had to calm down first though.

It didn't take long – her heart was made of sterner stuff. Even if she was still a little dazed from the unexpectedness – Her Potter Luck strikes again. Fíli and Kíli, Thorin's nephews. Thorin loved them, they were his heirs, his sister-sons, the sons he never had himself and thus, Lucy loved them by extension.

She wanted to go to them.

But being dipped in a mixture of anxiousness, elation and nervous energy, plus shaken by a nearly blind anger at Thorin for forgetting her and a desire to be reckless that would have had Snape running for the hills – Lucy sat back and concocted a plan.

That was one night Lucy spent almost its entirety awake and didn't regret it.

 **OpqOpqO**

 **Chapter 05: Path Finder End.**

 **OpqOpqO**

Preview of chapter 06: Lucy plots revenge.  
Kíli and Fíli meet their Aunt.  
Everyone move forward.


End file.
